A few years ago, quite a few, when I was a member of parliament in the Parliament of Catalonia, I went to eat at the Parliament's restaurant. At that time, the restaurant was on the first floor, where journalists who write parliamentary reports now work. Upon entering the restaurant, it was already past two in the afternoon, I noticed that I was the only customer. Nothing strange. It was Friday. Fridays, I suppose the same happens now, were slow. There were usually no plenary sessions, nor commissions, nor parliamentary group meetings. That is to say, few people circulated through the corridors and dependencies of the Parliament, because most deputies took advantage of that day to visit the territory or, as it is vulgarly called, dedicated it to personal matters. I sat down at a table decisively and realized that the tables were not set. Only the tablecloth had been spread. After about ten minutes, a waitress approached, dragging her feet and looking at me with a tired face. The dialogue we had was more or less the following:
--What do you want? --I must confess that the question left me speechless for a few seconds. --To eat. --I replied stammering.
--And what do you want? --Her tone was a resounding claim of idleness. --What do you have? --I'll check. --She said, turning around and disappearing through the kitchen access door.
After a few minutes, she returned. With a lost look.
--There are stewed lentils or goat cheese salad. --And for the main course? --I asked, making an effort to contain myself in the face of so much indolence. --San Jacobo and grilled hake. --Lentils and hake. And sparkling water. --I added the drink to the order, thinking that this would save us time and, incidentally, appease my growing discomfort.
When she returned with the plate of lentils in her hand, that's when I definitively lost my temper. She left it on the tablecloth and when she made a gesture to leave, I exploded. --And the cutlery? --Oh yes. --She replied grudgingly.
And I couldn't contain myself anymore. --And besides the cutlery, bring me bread, a glass, and a napkin... --I added, biting my tongue. I also remember that she brought me still water...
While trying to eat the plate of lentils, I don't remember their quality, I saw myself in the Els Caçadors restaurant in Ribes de Freser working as a waiter. A situation like that, there, was unimaginable, the front-of-house managers and owners of the establishment would never have allowed it. In fact, they taught us to serve and to make sure the client only had to focus on enjoying the wonderful delicacies we placed on their table. They should forget about the rest. And from there, the tradition and reputation of a restaurant like Els Caçadors. It is because of this type of professional deformation that in all establishments I always pay attention to the waiters.
It is evident that good cuisine can fail if it does not have good service. A good front-of-house manager and waiters and waitresses who do their job with enthusiasm. The waiting profession has no secrets. There is, however, one basic thing: it is about paying attention to the diner. Observing them from the moment they enter and putting a face to them. From that moment on, that person has a series of minimal needs that must be satisfied. Table by table, it is necessary to always maintain tension on what they need. When I think of the figure of a front-of-house manager, Alfred Romagosa, from the great Fermí Puig's restaurant, always, inevitably, comes to mind. He is like a Marvel superhero who achieves omnipresence without hardly being seen. Alfred infects the rest of the front-of-house professionals with his wisdom and that shows. A good waiter makes you feel attended to without noticing it. In fact, when the service is good, you rarely have anything to ask for. You are the center of the world, but, paraphrasing the damned Count-Duke of Olivares, "without the care being noticed."
In Barcelona there are excellent professionals and it is difficult for me not to think of the service at Via Veneto, where Josep Monje has created a true school. Experienced waiters with knowledge. Someone will say that it is logical for a restaurant like Via Veneto to have excellent staff. But it is not always like that. A great chef is not necessarily accompanied by good service.
A great chef is not necessarily accompanied by good serviceGranados's 9, which is a restaurant essentially of set menus and has an unbeatable quality-price ratio, now provisionally closed due to Covid and let's pray for its quick opening, it has top-notch professionals. In the upper-middle category, we would also find good services such as those ofL'Olivé. A good discreet and efficient service that is not cloying. Or the service of theAlkímia, which despite its staff's Star Trek-worthy attire, in keeping with the decorations and ornamentation that aim to emulate an alchemy laboratory, has an attentive and knowledgeable staff, careful with their work.
[subscribe_newsletter_cat]
What percentage needs to be attributed to good service for a restaurant to be memorable and make us want to repeat the experience? Forty, thirty, twenty percent? Difficult to say. But it is evident that it is an indispensable condition for a restaurant to achieve success. We will always remember a dish, a flavor, a texture, an aroma... but we will also remember the treatment, the attention, feeling like the center of the world. The people in the dining room, those who serve us the dishes and make it easy for us to focus on tasting the delicacies, are an essential part of the business and, too often, they are the great forgotten ones. Let's reclaim them.
Add The New Barcelona Post as your preferred Google source for free
Stay informed with the latest news.